


A Real Boy

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Avengers Vol. 8 (2018), Bittersweet Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: When Steve shows up for the Avengers' team meeting, he quickly discovers that the version of Tony in attendance this week is the artificial intelligence. But Tony is still Tony, the man Steve has loved for years, and him being a hologram doesn't stop the two of them from falling for each other. They just have a few kinks to work out.





	A Real Boy

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who needs a refresher on AI Tony's existence: after Tony ended up in a coma at the end of Civil War II, Tony's AI -- a hologram who could also live inside one of Tony's classic suits -- was activated to, essentially, be Tony. He has all of Tony's memories (and some that Tony doesn't), he has Tony's drinking problem, and on his birthday he wishes on a bunch of Cosmic Cube fragments to become a real boy. It doesn't happen. This is actually [all immensely sad](https://sineala.tumblr.com/post/185374780359/in-conclusion-im-sad). We haven't actually seen AI Tony in canon since Human Tony came back Iron Man #600 but... why should I let that stop me?
> 
> (Human Tony is dating Jan in this one, but I did break up Steve and Sharon. Also I am setting this before all the eScape/drinking stuff.)
> 
> Thanks to Kiyaar, Moony, and Blossom for beta.
> 
> Also, uh, the ending may not be going where you think. Not sure how to tag that.

At first, Steve doesn't notice anything different. After nearly a decade of Avengers meetings, it's understandable, he thinks, if the novelty of the surroundings mask anything else he could notice. The team meeting is of course in Avengers Mountain, a setting eerie enough that Steve is still unsettled -- a feeling not helped by the fact that the parts of the base are still named after the dead Celestial's body parts.

He's not the team chair, and if he's honest with himself, that's also unsettling. It sounds arrogant when he puts it like that, but some part of him expects all the faces in the room to turn toward him. Instead, he slides into his seat, and everyone else -- Thor, Carol, Jen, and the new kid, Robbie -- barely glances at him, still looking at T'Challa at the head of the table.

Everything is as it should be, but that doesn't make it any less strange.

So when he hears the tread of armored boots in the hallway, he can feel himself smiling, because here's something familiar, finally. Tony turns the corner and it's even more familiar; he's in one of his old, old armors. The Model 4, Steve would guess; Tony used to tease him and say that Steve knew the model numbers better than he did.

There's an empty seat next to Steve for Tony, as if fate has ordained this for them, as if fate always does. But this time Tony pauses before he takes it. He has the faceplate down, eye-slits shadowed enough that Steve can't read his expression, but his body language certainly speaks to reluctance.

What could be holding him back? They talked everything out. They're friends. They're Avengers together again. There's nothing left to forgive.

"Come on, Shellhead," Steve murmurs, and he pats the table in front of Tony's chair. "I saved you the best seat."

"You sure about that?" Tony's filtered voice is dubious.

"Sure I'm sure," Steve says, and he smiles as Tony creaks down into the seat. Finally, Steve's on stable ground.

T'Challa clears his throat, and Steve obediently turns. "Now that everyone's here," he says, in the air of a man not used to waiting, "it's time to start. On the agenda for today's meeting, updates on the Winter Guard, and the fallout of the--" his nose wrinkles-- "vampire situation." He turns to Carol. "Captain?"

Carol starts reporting, and then Jen and Thor chime in. Robbie doesn't say much, but he's new, and privately Steve thinks the kid's still a little intimidated about being an actual Avenger. But no one asks Tony.

It's onto the vampire situation, and Steve waits for T'Challa to cue Tony, because, after all, Tony met Dracula, didn't he? But he doesn't. He just asks Steve for a tactical assessment.

"I think we acquitted ourselves well," Steve says, bewildered, "and of course further details will be in my report, but surely Iron Man can contribute his impressions--"

"That won't be necessary, Captain," T'Challa says, curtly.

"But--"

Tony's shaking his head. "I wasn't there," he mutters, and he sounds ashamed.

That doesn't make any sense. "Of course you were--"

And then Tony's abashed face turns toward him, helmet tipped down, and that's when Steve sees it. Through the eye-slits, he doesn't see the familiar sapphire of Tony's eyes; there's only pale blue light, shining forth. He can make out the shape of downcast eyes, but there's nothing behind then. Nothing but light. Absurdly, Steve thinks of angels, the way he'd always pictured them as a child, shining and perfect.

"You're the AI one," Steve says, astonished into speaking the obvious. "You're the AI that Tony made. The one I met when-- when I came back."

He'd been the first person Steve had spoken to, and the first to speak to Steve, after Steve had defeated the terrible Hydra version of himself, after Steve had turned to his friends. _It's good to have you back, Cap_ , he'd said. Of course Tony had been the first to speak to him. Tony had welcomed him to the future first too. That was how this went. That's how this always goes. It's always Tony.

Tony had believed in him the whole time, he learned. Tony had never lost faith that they'd get him back. And that Tony, that's the one sitting here.

He learned that Tony had been drinking, too. Had no one cared?

"That's me," Tony says warily. Light flickers through the eye slits of his mask. "I-- I'm sorry, Cap. I thought you knew. I thought someone had told you. That's why I don't remember any of these missions. That was... him. The real Tony."

The rest of the room seems poised, waiting for something that Steve can't quite understand, but the tension rushes out as soon as Steve settles a hand on Tony's shoulder, feeling the join of where the crimson shoulder of the chestplate had always connected roughly with the smooth golden metal of Tony's arm.

The _real_ Tony? That's a ridiculous thing to say, but he supposes he should have expected it. Tony has always undervalued himself.

"I didn't know," Steve says, and he feels himself smiling. "But it's good to see you again. I never really got a chance to thank you for everything you did for me."

Tony is blinking at him again. "I, uh. You're welcome?"

The meeting goes on, then, a river sliding back into its course, and when it's over everyone else gets up, chattering, the way they always do -- but no one's talking to Tony, and Tony keeps his head down as he stands up, and this is wrong. Doesn't anyone care about Tony?

"Hey," Steve says, when they're finally alone, and Tony actually jumps. "So... can I expect to see you around here more often?"

"Probably." There's a pause; if Tony had the faceplate up, Steve would expect to see his mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "The boss is pretty busy with Stark Unlimited, and seeing as how there's not much going on up here, I've been... deputized, you might say. He-- I-- we've really always wanted to be in two places at the same time, I guess. So he's planning to spend a lot of time in New York, and I'll mostly be with the team."

Steve can feel himself smiling again. "That's good," he says. "I've really missed you."

Behind the mask, Tony is squinting. "Steve-- I--" he begins, and he can't finish his sentence, and that's weird. He doesn't usually reduce Tony to silence.

"Yes?"

"Why are you being so _nice_ to me?" Tony blurts out, and it's everything forlorn and broken that he's heard from Tony for a damn decade.

Steve's instant impulse, of course, is comfort, and Tony sounds so sad that maybe now he'll take it. "You're one of my best friends," Steve says. "Why shouldn't I want to be nice to you?"

Tony is silent for a few more seconds. Steve imagines him breathing. He's never seen this Tony's face before. He wonders what it looks like, if there's a flaring of nostrils to simulate all these movements he doesn't need. He wonders if Tony would lift the faceplate, if he asked him to.

"You know I'm not him, right?" Tony asks. "I'm not the real Tony. You don't need to bother. He's your friend. I'm just--"

Jesus Christ. This isn't hard.

"You're just _him_ ," Steve says, hitting the word too sharply. "Just because there are two of you now and one of you is an AI doesn't mean you're not him, and it doesn't mean you're not my friend. Of course you're my friend, Tony. Why the hell do you think I would think anything else?"

Tony makes a noise that sounds like a breath then, a rasping inhalation, and Steve guesses Tony can breathe after all. He wishes he could see him, more than anything, the raw and pure soul of him inside the mask.

"Well," Tony murmurs. He sounds... broken, almost, like he hadn't expected kindness, and like no one had ever given him any before. "Okay. Thank you."

Steve smiled. "Anytime, Shellhead."

"I'm only the shell now," Tony corrects, with that self-deprecating sense of humor that will never leave him, and, yep, this is Tony, this is Tony all over. Why anyone else can't see that is a mystery and, as far as Steve is concerned, their loss.

"You're still my Shellhead," Steve says, and he imagines a hint of a ghostly smile behind the armor's mouth slit. 

Tony holds out his gauntleted hand and Steve shakes it. Tony's grip is just the same as always and somehow it's not enough.

* * *

Steve used to dream about Iron Man.

Well, to be strictly fair, he used to dream about both Iron Man and Tony, but of course the revelation of Tony's identity had simplified that situation considerably. He tried to confine them to daydreams; he would certainly never have presumed more intimate fantasies, but his sleeping mind often betrayed him. 

Back then, his dreams about Tony were, Steve supposed, the ordinary sort of dreams one might have about an attractive person, a person one has feelings for -- kissing, certainly. Laughter. Smiles. Slow, dreamlike sex, where Steve's imagination substituted for knowledge, but was already convinced that Tony was a generous and kind lover. He'd wake in the morning to sticky sheets, a little bit ashamed, but, well, he could hardly help it.

His dreams about Iron Man were about revelation. Uncovering. Peeling off the armor, and imagining who might be underneath, and whether such a man would welcome his touch. It was a little rarer for those dreams to end the same way; Steve always figured his brain didn't have enough material to work with, and his dreaming mind picked the easier option, not that it stopped his conscious feelings.

After he found out about Tony, he stopped dreaming about Iron Man.

Tonight, Steve dreams about Iron Man again.

This dream isn't about secrets. This dream isn't about finding anything out. In the dream he's in the mansion, where he hasn't lived in years. He's in his room, and Tony -- Iron Man -- is there too. He's in the armor, his old armor. He's the AI. Light shines vivid and beautiful through the slits of the mask, and Steve already knows everything. The mask doesn't need to come off anymore.

Tony presses him down to the bed, the weight of the armor pinning Steve down. He slides a golden thigh between Steve's legs and Steve is hard, aching for it, pressed up against all that gorgeous metal, against everything that is Tony.

_Tony, Tony, Tony_ , he gasps, because he knows who Iron Man is, he knows and he wants him, he knows and he loves him. _Tony, touch me, please._

His voice sounds wanton in his own ears; he's clutching the pauldrons, the shoulders of the armor, to pull himself closer. 

_Steve_ , Tony's altered voice says, and he's just as wrecked. _Steve, Steve, I'm here--_

He wants to know how to make Tony happy like this, how to please him. In the dream, he's selfish; Tony is happy with him just pleasing himself.

Steve ruts desperately against the metal and he's coming--

And he wakes up. He's a sticky mess. He doesn't think he's had a wet dream like that in ages. Certainly not one as vivid as this.

He has a crush on Tony. On Tony's AI. He tests the idea out, and then he hears himself laugh at the ceiling of his quarters. He hasn't asked anyone out since. The feeling within him might be delight. Of course he has a crush on Tony. Jesus, why shouldn't he?

_Why not?_ he thinks. Maybe it's the fact that he's never had a dream like this in so long; maybe it's the utter incongruity of it all. His nerves sizzle with satiety, with longing and loneliness. _Why the hell not?_

He's never asked Tony out before. There have been a lot of reasons. Mostly it's just never been the right time for them at the same time. But he's always thought that Tony might say yes to a date if he put the offer out there.

Sure, Tony's dating Jan. He knows that. But not every Tony is dating Jan.

And... he likes the AI. He likes Tony. He loves Tony. He knows Tony, sure, but the AI has diverged now. His own man with his own new memories to add to the shared ones. And he never gave up on Steve. That has to mean something. It certainly doesn't make that Tony less real, no matter what anyone else may think of him. He's still Tony.

And he's lonely, that much is clear. None of the Avengers were treating him like Tony. Maybe no one is. Maybe Steve can change that.

Maybe now is finally the time. Maybe now is his chance. Maybe Tony will say yes.

* * *

Steve's determined to go about this right. He knows he's had a lot of relationships where he's come on too strong, too fast -- but at the same time he wants this to be unambiguous. Asking Tony out for coffee after an Avengers briefing is the kind of thing he'd do anyway. And he wants this to be separate from the team, to be clear that he's not just asking him to a meal as an Avenger. And he wants to give Tony the courtesy to turn him down -- if he wants to -- in a situation where this won't get too awkward.

Also, the coffee at Avengers Mountain is _terrible_.

Despite what he'd said about being there for the team, even this Tony goes back to New York occasionally. So Steve waits. And he waits. He asks Tony his plans after the end of another team meeting, just to make sure that's where he'll be, and he sits and waits in his apartment, empty after Sharon left, before heading over.

He thinks about bringing flowers. That might be too much. He doesn't even know if Tony can smell them. He doesn't know how smelling things works.

The headquarters of Stark Unlimited, like everything Tony has ever built, is a gleaming vision, a paean to modern industry. Steve walks through the light and airy reception area, and blinks in surprise as the first person he sees is Jocasta. He hadn't known she was working here. It makes him feel a little better, knowing how much Tony thinks of AIs as people; it makes it less likely that Tony's just stashed the unwanted copy of himself in a basement, deactivated when Tony's decided he's no longer needed, like he's not even a person.

Of course, what Tony thinks of himself and what he thinks of AIs are two different things, and he's never been very kind to himself.

"Captain!" Jocasta says, smiling. "May I help you?"

"Yes," Steve says, returning the smile. "I was wondering if Tony was free."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Captain. He and Ms. Van Dyne have dinner reservations--"

Steve interrupts her. "No, no, the other Tony. Is he around?"

Her metallic expression changes ever so slightly, like she wants to say something but decides against it. "Of course. One moment."

She turns away and Steve waits for her to lean into an intercom, to tap something into a keyboard -- but then he supposes that she doesn't need to. After a few moments an elevator rises up and disgorges Tony, still wearing the classic armor. His faceplate is still down. Steve wonders if this is how Tony wants to present himself, or if he's worried about what Steve will think if he shows him his true face.

Steve fancies that Tony's mood improves markedly as soon as he sees him. Steve's had a decade of reading Iron Man's body language, after all, and he watches Tony's shoulders lift and his head tilts up. Steve tries not to fidget. He wishes he had something to do with his hands.

"Hey, Cap!" Tony says, brightly. He glances back at the desk and pulls Steve away. "Don't mind Jo; she's got Opinions about backup copies lately," he adds, with distaste, and Steve can practically hear the capital letter. "You rang?"

Steve has no idea what any of that means, but he knows what he's here for.

"I did," Steve says, and he concentrates on breathing while he lets Tony escort him over to an arrangement of little low couches at the far end of the cavernous room. "I was hoping to talk to you."

"Of course," Tony says, much more easily than Steve thought he would have, but then Steve realizes he doesn't understand. "Team business, huh?"

Steve isn't wearing a uniform. It shouldn't have been Tony's first guess.

Steve licks his lips -- God, he's so nervous about this, it's Tony, he has to get this right -- and shakes his head. "Not really. I just-- I just missed you. I thought maybe we could get dinner?"

There's a pause. Steve can see that Tony almost has it, but everything in him -- all of those subroutines, every bit of his soul -- are telling him that this can't be what he thinks it is. He watches Tony discard the idea.

"You know which one of me you're asking, right?" Tony's altered voice is high and incredulous. He taps his gauntleted fingers against the side of the helmet. "There's-- there's nothing in here, Steve. I can't eat."

"I know," Steve says, patiently. He expected this. He's a tactician. He has plans. "But I figured, you know, that's how we used to do it in the old days, if you didn't mind that. You could keep me company while I ate. We could talk. That kind of thing."

He needs to say it. He needs to just come out and say it.

"So you're asking me this," Tony says, still a little shakily, "because it's tradition?"

Steve takes a deep breath. "Actually," he says. "I was thinking more of... a date?"

The eye slits dim as Tony blinks at him. There's another frozen silence. 

"I mean," Steve says, "if you don't want to, of course--"

"You're joking," Tony says, incredulous and frantic, like he's expecting that this is some kind of prank, glancing around like he's looking for the cameras, the crowd of mocking bystanders, rushing out to jeer at him for thinking that Steve might actually care. "You can't-- you can't really--"

Steve rubs his hands on his thighs because he doesn't dare reach for him. "I'm serious. I promise. I am so serious."

Tony blinks at him again. His head whips to the side; he's staring frantically around the room. " _Why?_ Why this, why now, why-- why _me_ , Steve, oh God--"

"Because I like you," Steve says. "Because I've always liked you, and right now you seem so lonely that I can hardly stand it, and I-- I'm lonely too, I think if you give me a chance I could make you happy. I think we could make each other happy."

Tony's eye slits meet his. Steve wants to beg him to take the helmet off. He wants to know. He wants to see everything Tony is. Tony's voice is soft. "I'm not real."

"Yes, you are," Steve says, fiercely. "You're real to me."

Tony glances away, a flash of light. "There are... complications."

"I can deal with complications."

Tony's vocal filters crackle in a laugh, like he's laughing at himself. "Of course you can. Of course you can, you perfectly stubborn bastard."

Steve tries a smile. "You know you missed me."

"I really did. I really, really did," Tony says, the relief audible in his voice. and Steve imagines that Tony is smiling back. "All right," Tony says, finally. "Take me out."

* * *

Steve has put some thought into selecting a restaurant for the two of them. It's not classy, just standard American food -- sandwiches, soups, and the like -- but more importantly, it's one of the restaurants that's been a longtime Avengers haunt. There will be no curious tourists. No one's going to bat an eyelash at Captain America and Iron Man showing up in full uniform, they'll give them a decent amount of privacy, and -- also important -- they remember the days when Iron Man liked to show up with the rest of the team and order solely a glass of water with a bendy straw. That means that nothing they do is going to stand out.

It's just that, tonight, Tony's not going to be drinking his water, either.

Steve ignores the list of mediocre beers when he orders his food. "Cheeseburger, medium, and a glass of water, please," he says to the nonplussed waiter, knowing that back in the day Tony might have seen him get a beer -- well, if he wasn't in uniform, which he isn't. He definitely would have gotten a soda, but he knows that, even beyond Tony's alcoholism, it seems wrong to really indulge in front of him, to have all the things he can't.

He doesn't know how Tony could even drink, the way he is. How he could have done it at all. It's a hell of a thing to ask on a first date. Steve will refrain.

Behind the eye slits, blue light flickers, like Tony's squinting. "Steve, really, it's no big deal--"

"Not a problem," Steve says, and he half-smiles as the waiter brings him water. "This way we match, huh?"

He smiles. He hopes Tony is smiling back.

Tony makes a noise that's almost a sigh, a hiss of familiar static. "This is real for you, isn't it?" He gestures at the table, at the two of them. "You. Us. This. This isn't a joke. You're all in."

"I said I was," Steve says, a little more defensively than he means to; Tony should know he doesn't say these kinds of things lightly. "I still am."

Tony's shaking his head. "I just-- I still can't believe this, really," he says, with a laugh. "I keep thinking I'm-- well, I can't dream anymore-- but I keep imagining that something's gone wrong in the code and here I am, trapped in a fantasy."

Steve's breath catches. "You--?"

"Always," Tony says, with another laugh. "I just... never thought you'd want me. And I sure as hell never thought you'd want me like this."

"It's still you," Steve says, as firmly as he can. "I know that. I _know_ that, Tony."

"Yeah," Tony says, softly. "I'm getting that."

Steve wants to reach across the table and hold Tony's hand but instead Tony leans back, spreads his arms against the booth that creaks against the armor's weight. His chin tilts up, and Steve knows that face. He doesn't even need to see that face to know that face.

"I like how you're looking at me," Steve admits. It's a little forward for a first date, but in the grand scheme of things they're really well past _first date_ , aren't they?

Tony snorts, another mechanical noise -- wonderfully familiar, rather than alien. He wonders if Tony's voice without helmet is more natural, or if it's just distorted all the way through. He can't possibly ask. Steve knows there's a hologram under there, but he also knows that this Tony's stopped wanting to shuck the armor in public. He's not going to push him.

There's annoyance and fondness mixed together in Tony's tone. "Steve, you don't even know how I'm looking at you."

"You're looking at me," Steve says, and this is definitely too heavy for any kind of date, but when the hell have they ever been normal? "You're looking at me like-- like-- you're the only person in the whole goddamn world who doesn't see me and see the Hydra Supreme Leader. Even the rest of the team." He can feel his throat tighten up. "I see them, when they don't think I'm watching, eyeing me like they don't quite trust me. They can't help it. But you-- you look at me like you've always looked at me. Like it's all going to be okay. Even though I know you saw him too, the man who wore my face."

They have the exact opposite problem, don't they? Everyone who sees Steve wonders if he's the same man as his terrible double, and no one but Steve will believe Tony's AI is worthy of being treated like the original Tony.

"Oh, hell, Steve," Tony breathes, dismayed. "You're you. Of course you're you. I could never doubt that."

Something knotted up in Steve unclenches, a rope unraveling, Tony undoing him with a word or two, the way he always has. "Really?"

"Yeah, Winghead," Tony says, and God, Tony has to be smiling now. "Really."

They're interrupted by Steve's burger arriving, and Steve glances up at Tony. "Do you mind if I--?"

Sure, back when he hadn't known who Iron Man was, Tony had never minded if anyone was eating. But maybe this is different now.

"Go right ahead," Tony says, gesturing at Steve's plate. "If I were going to get offended by people eating around me I wouldn't have lasted long in this tin can." He pauses, and the rest of the sentence is quieter. "Also, it's not really a hardship to... watch you enjoy things, you know."

That's a promising sentence, isn't it?

"Oh?" Steve asks. His face is tingling.

But Tony doesn't take the hint. "Of course," he says. "Why do you think I kept making you so much gear, back in the day?"

Steve tries not to let his face fall. "It was very kind of you."

It's a good date. Hell, it's probably even a great date. They already knew they had a lot in common. They're laughing and chatting, talking about _hey, do you remember when that happened?_ They already knew they were the best of friends, and if there's chemistry to be had -- Steve can't be the only one who feels this way, can he? Their eyes keep meeting, and they fall into silence, and it has to mean something. Maybe Tony wants him too. Tony has to. How can they be this compatible in every other way and not have that spark?

The waiter brings the check. Steve pays, and he tips as if Tony had ordered a meal, for the hell of it.

"Thank you," Tony says, his voice wavering with wonder. "I-- I had a really good time with you. No one's treated me like-- like this, like a person, and I'm really grateful. It means a lot to me."

Steve steels himself. He can say this. The worst thing that can happen is that Tony will say no.

"You could come back to my place?" Steve suggests. His heart is pounding. "You could, uh, come up and have some coffee? I mean, uh. Sit with me while I have coffee. I guess."

Tony pauses again, freezes, like his code can't account for this. "I'm trying to decide," Tony says, and his voice now is very gentle, "whether you actually want coffee, or whether in ten years you have somehow missed what that's usually a euphemism for."

Ah. Tony is trying to be kind. Tony is trying to give him a way out. Tony assumes Steve doesn't want him.

Tony happens to be dead wrong.

"I had a lovely evening," Steve says. "And I think-- I think you know how I feel about you. How I've felt about you for a long time." He can't just come out and say it. He's not as free as Tony is with his words. But he thinks Tony must know. "And, like you said, I'm all in. You don't have to, and I understand if you don't want to, but if this is something you want--"

Tony half-raises a hand, and Steve's heart plummets.

"I'm not saying no," Tony says, carefully. "But I told you there were complications. And this is, uh, where they come into play. And you might want to say no then, once you know what they are. That's all."

"I'm not going to say no," Steve says. He can feel his jaw twitch. 

Another laugh. "And that's how I know you're you you." Tony's gaze slides left and right, a jagged line of blue. "I'm not discussing this in the middle of a diner."

"Okay," Steve says. "Come home with me, then?"

Tony must be smiling now. "Gladly," he says, and they stand up together.

This is uncharted territory. Steve doesn't know how any of this is going to work. But Tony's with him, and Tony's a goddamn genius, and together they're going to figure this out.

* * *

The stairs creak as he leads Tony to his apartment. He flips on the lights. Tony is quiet, but his electric-blue gaze darts nervously behind the faceplate. Tony doesn't ask about why Sharon isn't here anymore. Tony doesn't say anything.

"I don't think you've seen this place yet," Steve says.

Tony laughs under his breath as he sees the flag on the wall. "I can still tell it's yours."

"You can sit down if you want," Steve says.

Tony takes one end of the loveseat; the couch creaks, but holds under the weight of the armor. Steve, optimistically, takes the opposite end. Close enough to touch him, if Tony will let him.

"I, uh," Steve says. "I didn't really want coffee."

"I didn't think you did," Tony says. He laughs embarrassed static again. "God. I don't even know where to start. I-- I never thought I'd have to talk about this."

Steve summons up his best encouraging smile. "It's okay. I'm right here. I'm still here. I'm here for you."

Tony sighs again, a long hiss. He rests one gauntlet on the arm of Steve's couch. Steve wants to hold his hand.

"You believe I'm real," Tony begins, and before Steve can protest that Tony _is_ real, Tony holds up a hand. "You believe I'm just as much Tony Stark as... the man made of flesh and blood. And you have no idea what that means to me. But what I'm saying is that I wasn't intended to be real, and that has certain consequences. I was intended as a backup. In case of emergency, break glass. They broke the glass."

_I was the emergency_ , Steve thinks.

"I have Tony Stark's memories up until the day I was built," Tony continues. "I have his knowledge and his intelligence. I have his personality. I was intended to function in his stead, to do whatever the Avengers needed me to do. But in the end, when it comes down to it, this is what I am."

Tony's always been one for drama. Steve watches him unhook the faceplate, push it back, and finally look at him, full-on.

He's gorgeous. He's always been gorgeous. That's never changed. But now Tony is all radiant blue light, reflecting from the back of the helmet, shining forth, and Steve can see his face at last. Tony is awkward, nervous, biting his lip, like he expects Steve to turn away,

Steve can't stop staring. He thinks maybe now he doesn't have to.

"God," Tony says, under his breath, "you really are gone for me, aren't you?" And it's his voice, his real voice; the vocal filters were only on the armor.

"Well, I wasn't lying," Steve says. It's a relief to admit it, after so many years, to tell Tony how he feels.

And then Tony glances away and back and gestures at his face with one gauntleted hand. "This is me," he says. "I'm a hologram. This is what there is of me. I was never meant to function as a whole person. And what there is of me is what Tony decided to code. He-- he made me an alcoholic." Tony swallows hard. "He left that in me. I could just think myself drunk, and there I was. When you were-- when he was-- I was drunk a lot. The team didn't really care much as long as I kept working. Functional alcoholic, I guess. Literally."

"Oh, Tony," Steve says, softly.

That isn't right. How could Tony do that to him? How could everyone do that to him?

"But my point," Tony says, "is that I'm an artificial intelligence. This is it. What you see is what you get." And he looks at Steve like, for some godforsaken reason, he expects Steve to be dissuaded.

He really should know Steve better than that.

Steve holds out his hands helplessly. "What do you want me to say, Tony? One of my closest friends and teammates in the war was Jim Hammond, and he wasn't human. He was an android --an AI, just like you. And over the years we've had so many people on the team who weren't human. Take Vision. I never said a word against Wanda and Vizh, did I? Why wouldn't I think this was a good thing? You don't-- you don't have to be human to be loved."

_Love_. God, he said it.

But Tony's face twists up into something hideous and self-loathing. Of course Tony kept that. Of course he encoded it into himself.

"There are some obvious differences between me and Vision." He sighs. "How plain do I need to be?" he asks, and then he plows forward anyway. "Vision _has a dick_ , Steve."

Beyond assuming that Vision and Wanda had somehow been intimate, Steve can't say that he's ever thought about what parts Vision has. He can feel his face color anyway, a reflex he's always regretted. What Tony said is-- it's blunt and it's crude and it doesn't matter, anyway. Whatever Tony has or doesn't have... doesn't matter. He'll take him, no matter what. They can figure this out together.

"Good for him," Steve says, dryly, "but he's not you." He leans forward. "Nothing is a deal-breaker here, Tony. I promise. Whatever you have or don't have, we can make it work--"

"You don't get it," Tony hisses. His face is twisted again, distorted. "There is nothing. I have nothing. I can't give you anything like what you want. There's nothing we can make work."

Steve's half-formed fantasies start to melt away. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not coded for this," Tony says, simply. His voice is flat. "I have the memory of a thousand different orgasms, but the wiring to have my own isn't in me, so to speak. Tony didn't figure his AI would ever want to be able to come, you know?" He smiles ruefully. "I don't have the capacity to experience sexual pleasure or climax. I can't do it. I literally can't. Steve, I-- I can't even feel physical sensation. I'm not an android like Torch or Vision; I'm a hologram. I don't have a body. You can't even touch me. There are proximity sensors in the armor, just to keep me from accidentally hitting walls, but there's no emotional or physical feeling attached to that. It's just data."

He hadn't thought of this. He assumed that Tony would be like the androids he'd known, but it seems clear that Tony isn't, and that he's never going to be.

"So I can touch you," Tony continues. "With the armor on. If that's what you want, there's-- well, there's a limited number of things I can safely do to you, since the proximity sensors aren't fine-grained enough for the data I'd need for... more intimate activities." Tony bites his lip again; his shining light seems to fade. "But I think the issue is more in the other direction. I've gotten the impression, over the years, that you like making your partners happy. You like satisfying them. And what I'm telling you is that... you're never going to be able to return the favor."

The first thing Steve feels is disappointment. He can admit that. He's aware that Tony knows, that Tony is watching his face fall, that Tony is deciding even now that Steve doesn't love him.

"I don't think love has to be about physical love," he says, because, hell, it's not like they don't both know what they feel. But it feels like the way Tony is presenting this is wrong, a spearpoint driving in and pushing him back. "I just want to know more, first. If-- if I held your hand right now, what would you feel?"

Mute, Tony sets his hand between them. Steve touches the palm of the gauntlet, running his fingers over the flexible striations in the metal, over the dim repulsor array. He's always liked this armor. He tries not to think about Tony touching him.

"I can tell you're touching me," Tony says, his voice halting, "but not in any way you'd perceive as sensation. The armor interface just tells me there's no distance between us. I don't register it, even as pressure."

The answer is frustratingly incomplete. "But how do you _feel_?" Steve asks.

Tony half-smiles. "I mean, you know I have feelings. Emotions. I like it. I like that you want to touch me. It makes me happy," he says, low and ashamed, like he doesn't think he deserves this. "But this is as much as I can feel. Do you get what I mean? And I don't think you're going to be satisfied with a relationship where you can only hold my hand."

_Don't tell me what I feel_ , Steve wants to say, but he bites his tongue. Tony deserves honesty.

"You're right that it's always been important to me to make my partners happy," Steve says. "And before now, physicality has been a component of... happiness. But if I could make you happy by being with you, in whatever form it takes, it would be enough for me."

Tony's still half-smiling, nervously. "Does it have to be perfectly equal treatment to make you happy?"

"What do you mean?"

Very slowly, Tony slides his hand over. He rests it atop Steve's thigh.

Oh. 

Steve can feel his heart pounding for an entirely different reason. Blood rushes through him, tingles and leaves behind coursing heat, everything uncontrollable and biological that Tony isn't. One touch can undo him. He's already half-hard. He's pretty sure Tony knows that. That thought just makes him harder.

"Even if I can't ever feel this way again myself," Tony says, "I'd really like to, uh, help you out. If you get something out of it, and I get something out of it, it doesn't have to be the exact same something, does it?"

He's seen Tony flirt before, but seeing Tony's flirtatious look directed at him is an entirely different experience. Tony's half-lidded gaze glimmers with light. Even if Tony can't experience attraction, or sensation, it's clear that he's feeling pleasure.

Steve breathes out shakily and tries to ignore the part of his body that is very, very interested in this. "It wouldn't bother you?"

"Pretty much the opposite of bothering," Tony says, with a wider smile this time.

"You want this?"

"I want this," Tony says, eager and avid, and Steve lets himself fall back, gives himself up, lets Tony and his ever-dextrous gauntlets tug the zipper of his fly down.

Tony is so gentle. He's leaning over Steve, watching his own hands, and Steve remembers that he said he couldn't feel this. He unbuttons Steve's fly, frees his cock, and Steve groans in relief.

Steve hadn't really pictured them ending up like this, on his couch; his fantasies often tended to the romantic, with Tony. But nothing about this is normal. Nothing about them has ever been. The way Tony is looking at him, enthralled, suggests that Tony is already having a very good time. Why not? Like everything else, why not?

"You're going to want lube," Tony says. "Uh. A lot of it."

Steve fumbles out, reaches the drawer of the end table, pulls out the near-empty lube bottle. Tony graciously doesn't draw the obvious inferences about how Steve's recent sex life has been him sitting around his apartment, alone.

"There we go," Tony says, slathering it on his palm, and then he closes one gauntleted hand ever so delicately around Steve's cock.

The metal of the gauntlet is cool to the touch, slick from the lube, and the striations of the metal are like nothing Steve has ever felt before, textured against the shaft of his swelling cock, the bump of the dimmed repulsor smooth like glass over the head of his cock. He's rock-hard in an instant.

He had a toy that felt sort of like this, he remembers, but this isn't a toy, this is real, this is _Tony_ \--

"Oh, God," Steve gasps, his hips jerking wildly into Tony's hand. "Tony, Tony, that feels so good."

He has one hand digging into the arm of the couch, one braced on Tony's metal shoulder. Tony bends his head and strokes him faster, a little harder, like he wants to find out just how Steve likes it, the exact right method to get him off.

"Like that?" Tony murmurs.

Tony glances up along his body to look at his face. In the shadow of the helmet, Tony's face is shining brighter, blue like clear summer skies, and Steve has wanted this, Steve has wanted this forever.

"Not going to last," Steve pants out, feeling his balls draw up, feeling everything within him build. His body's been waiting for Tony.

"I don't want you to last," Tony says, his voice hoarse, thrilling, full of something that Steve wants to call desire. "Come on, come on, give it to me, I want to see, show it all to me--"

Steve's usually quiet when he comes -- several formative years of jerking off in Army barracks, and then a lifetime of habit -- but he wants to give Tony everything, and he throws his head back and groans, coming in long pulses over the metal of Tony's gauntlets, Tony's suit, his own shirt. He half-hears himself calling Tony's name as he shakes through his release.

When he opens his eyes, Tony is staring at him, mesmerized.

"You're gorgeous," Tony murmurs, and he reaches out to brush Steve's cheek, ever so gently, with the backs of his fingers. Steve turns his head and sucks Tony's finger into his mouth, sharp and metallic, with the salt of his own come. It's like a kiss. "Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me give you that."

"Give me a second," Steve pants. "I'll clean you up too." He can't imagine any fluids he got on Tony playing nice with the suit circuitry.

Tony plants a hand in the middle of Steve's chest. "No, stay a minute."

Steve blinks up at him, dazed in the afterglow. "You okay?"

"I just want to look at you a little longer," Tony says, like this is part of it for him, and maybe it is. "Appreciate the view."

Steve's sitting here spattered in come with his softening cock hanging out of his pants. He can't imagine it's an appealing view without the ability to feel some kind of lust, but Tony makes a quiet, soft noise of amazement, like Steve's a work of art, and Steve shuts his eyes and lets him look. He tips his head back against the sofa, and Tony gently runs a cool metal finger over the side of his throat.

When Steve opens his eyes, Tony is smiling at him, light brightening the shadows of the evening.

He doesn't know what Tony's getting out of this -- and he doesn't know if he'll ever understand -- but he's here, he's with Tony, and Tony's having a good time. Maybe it's as simple as that.

Steve thinks, for the first time in months, that he might be able to remember what happiness feels like.

* * *

The second time -- if he can call it that -- is actually an accident. Not unwanted, by any means, but unintentional. A coincidence.

They don't make specific plans for a second date, both because their lives are such that it's very hard to promise that MODOK won't be attacking anything next Friday, and also out of the sense that... well, they've clearly already gotten to know each other, and when they're both free, they'll see each other again.

So Steve's alone in his quarters in the Mountain this time, alone in the middle of the night; he thinks Tony's still in New York. He'd said that Tony -- the other Tony -- had wanted an Avengers briefing, which is only reasonable, Steve supposes, since Tony -- _his_ Tony, he dares, in his mind -- has been the one doing all the actual work with the Avengers.

He misses Tony something fierce, though.

And, all right, it's not exactly just _missing_. He's honest enough to admit to himself that, well, he really liked what he and Tony had gotten up to. He'd wanted Tony for so long, and now it turns out that Tony feels the same way, as much as he's able to. And Tony had touched him and, God, that had been wonderful.

He'd worried he was taking advantage of Tony, but Tony had just smiled at him and said, _you're perfect_ , and that had been that.

He's lying on his bed and there's nothing else to do and it can't be wrong to think of Tony now, can it? His body prickles with heat. If he wants to think about it, if he wants to remember it, that can't be bad. Tony said he liked it. Tony's his-- his _fella_ \-- and it's not using him to think about him a little, to remember -- oh God -- the way Tony had looked at him, enthralled, and the way his own cock had looked in Tony's gauntleted fist.

The tingle of arousal in him fans rapidly and Steve decides that if he has to be by himself, he might as well treat himself right. He strips, lays back on the bed, trails his hands over his chest, shuts his eyes and pretends that it's Tony pinching his nipples, imagines crimson and gold metal against his flesh. He hears himself whimper.

_Good_ , Tony's voice says in his head. _Let me hear you._

He lets his fingers trail down his stomach, run over his cock, tease himself into full hardness. His hands are callused from years of handling his shield, but for the first time in his life he thinks they're too soft. They're not enough like Tony.

He drizzles lube over his hands and grips tighter, and there, that's almost right. Tony hadn't been rough, exactly -- he'd been so careful -- but there had been a certain clumsiness, a jerkiness, an unfamiliarity. Steve swipes his thumb over the leaking head of his cock and pretends it's Tony, this Tony who is old and new at the same time, who has loved him for years and never touched anyone before him, who is doing this all for the first time, and God, that's a good thought, that runs right through him, down to his aching balls in a spasm of need.

"Oh, please," Steve breathes into the darkness, begging the empty room to bring him his fantasies. "Please, please, please."

He's so close. He cups his balls, rolling him gently the way he likes -- he wonders if Tony would dare, pictures the coolness of Tony's gauntlets on his hot flesh, and his hips thrust upward, driving his cock into his tightening fist, again and again. He's going to-- he's going to--

The Mountain's communication system chimes. "Incoming audio call."

Steve swears under his breath, wipes his hands off on the sheets, and tries to steady his breathing and his heart rate so that whoever it is won't know what he's been up to. It has to be Avengers business. Three a.m. phone calls generally aren't for anything else.

Steve clears his throat. "Identify caller."

"Tony Stark, artificial intelligence."

Steve feels himself smiling. Maybe this won't be so bad after all. "Put him through."

And then Tony's voice fills the room. "Hey, Steve."

"Hey, Tony," Steve says. He hopes he's not panting too obviously. His cock throbs at the sound of Tony's voice. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, really," Tony says. "I'm just-- done for the day and down here alone in a basement--" God, they leave him in a basement?-- "and I, uh. I just missed hearing your voice."

Steve smiles. "I-- I missed hearing you too." He can hear himself breathe out, ragged. Tony probably heard that.

"Steve?" Tony asks. "You okay there? You sound a little-- I don't know--"

Now he's going to find out if Tony's offended after all, he supposes. "It's nothing to worry about," he says. "I just-- I was just-- I missed you and I was, um, thinking about you, and I, uh. Yeah."

He can practically hear the smile in Tony's voice. "Is this the part of the call where I ask you what you're wearing?"

Well, that's definitely a yes.

"Switch to video," Steve says, hearing his voice go rough, "and you'll find out."

A holographic flatscreen flickers into existence. Tony's sitting at a workbench in a mostly darkened room; he has the helmet totally off, and he's wearing the rest of the suit. His gaze takes in Steve's body, and he smiles, blue-white and shining.

"Aren't you gorgeous," Tony says, softly, fondly, almost reverently, and Steve feels his face heat. "Well, go on. Don't let me stop you."

Steve obediently wraps his hand around his cock. "Like that?"

Tony's smile is fierce, predatory. "Show me how you like it. I always wondered if you were more sensitive, or if you liked it hard. Show me what you do."

"Anything when it's you," Steve pants out. He pinches his nipples with his free hand, twists one, and gasps and thrusts into his own hand.

"Again," Tony says, avidly. "You should see yourself. You should see your face. I love watching you give in, accept it, let yourself feel it--"

Steve pinches his nipples again, arches into it, slides his hand down his body to where his other hand is already furiously working his cock. He doesn't know what angle Tony has, what angle Tony wants, if this human slide and slap of flesh on flesh is anything like what he wanted.

"Is this what you want?" Steve pants out. He lets his thighs fall open, spreads his legs wide, turns for the video pickup, lets Tony see everything, intimate and bared for him.

"I want your secrets," Tony says, his voice urging him on, oh, oh yes. "I want to know what you think about, everything that's turning you on, all your fantasies. I can't feel it, but I want to know, I want to remember--"

"You," Steve gasps out, and he's rolling his balls again, and his fist is tight on his cock, and he'll be gone soon, he'll be gone, but that's what Tony wants. "Your hands on my thighs, on my balls, on my cock, just like this, touching me everywhere, because I'm yours, fuck, fuck, fuck--"

He comes in spurts, again and again, messy and copious, like his body has already come to accept this. His eyes are half-shut and he's smiling. He thinks this is what Tony wants. The afterglow. Happiness, in any and every form obtainable.

"What do you want, Steve?"

The question is pitched softly, gently, and Steve is so disarmed that he gives a too-honest answer.

"I want to kiss you."

His eyes snap open, but before he can apologize, Tony purses his lips, raises his palm to his translucent face, and blows him a kiss. A virtual kiss, from hundreds of miles away, from a man who can never touch him. But Tony doesn't look offended.

"Me too," Tony murmurs. "Sweet dreams."

Tony's smile is soft and tender.

* * *

It's another few days before Steve sees Tony in person; he's just about finished putting Robbie through his paces when Tony pokes his head around the edge of the open gym. He's back to full armor again today.

"Evening, Cap," Tony says, as Steve claps Robbie on the shoulder and goes to find a towel to wipe the sweat off. The flickering light behind the eye slits flickers even more. Steve wonders if Tony is jealous. Steve remembers a thousand bouts of touching Tony like this. Steve imagines his hands on the coolness of the armor.

He flushes in a way he hopes Robbie will attribute to exertion. None of the Avengers know about him and Tony. Steve's not ashamed -- and, hell, it's not like it would be anywhere near the strangest relationship any of them have ever had -- but he hates to think of what they'd think. That he's got some kind of fetish, held out on display, making them reevaluate everything, making them think he wanted Torch or Vision or Jocasta -- or worse, making them think that he's settling for the Tony he can get.

Neither of these things are true. But he knows people who would think them. He knows people who wouldn't understand.

"Evening, Tony," Steve returns, his voice steady. "You need me for something?"

He thinks about pressing his mouth against the faceplate. Licking inside, into the emptiness that is Tony's body, everything and nothing. He wonders what light tastes like.

Steve has a lot of needs, really. He thinks Tony does too, even if they're not all the same as his. He imagines Tony lifting his eyebrows and joking about intersecting sets. Unions.

"Nothing that can't wait," Tony drawls, an answer that is decidedly not the same as unadorned _nothing_.

"Okay," Steve says. "I think we're all done here for the evening anyway. Good job, Robbie."

"Thank you, sir," Robbie says. He still keeps glancing at Steve like he expects Steve's going to chew him out for something, but at least he's not doing it all the time.

Robbie edges around Tony and out the door, and it's just him and Tony; when Tony steps in, Steve sees that he has a suitcase in one hand. It looks like the armor suitcase, honestly, but that would be strange; Tony's already wearing the armor.

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Should I ask what's in the case?"

He can see the bright hint of Tony's smile through the mouth slit. "A surprise," he says, but he sounds a little nervous about it. They can talk about it later, Steve supposes.

Wiping off his face with the edge of his towel, Steve looks up to see Tony looking at him, his head tilted to the side. The helmet's still on, but given that Tony's still looking at Steve, he must like something about the sight.

"I was just about to shower," Steve offers. "I know you can't exactly join me, but--"

The light behind the faceplate is brighter. "Yes, please."

* * *

One of the nicer things about being with Tony is the way he brightens up the place. It's an awful joke, but it's also true. Steve's not going to be able to take another shower in his quarters here in Avengers Mountain without thinking about Tony watching him almost hungrily on the other side of the glass, urging him to touch himself and tease himself and stroke himself in full view of Tony's gaze. Steve comes hard, weak in the knees, imagining Tony's hands on him, imagining that Tony can read his breathing, his heartrate, that he always knows how much Steve desires him.

Steve doesn't even bother getting dressed; he just wanders out to the bedroom and sinks naked onto the bed, water droplets still spattering his skin. Tony follows, and Steve sprawls back on the mattress and smiles.

The mattress dips and dips more as Tony perches next to him. Tony flips the faceplate back; his smile is tense.

"So, uh, confession," Tony said. "I might have deliberately waited to ask about this when I thought you were going to be a little sweeter. Because there's something I want to say, and it's good, but it's a little rough, and I thought it might be easier to hear now. I think you'll want to hear it but I-- I don't know."

Steve feels like he should be angry but can only summon up confusion and the vaguest annoyance, which was probably Tony's goal. It sounds like either Tony is breaking up with him or proposing to him, or somehow trying to do both at the same time.

"You won't know until you tell me," Steve points out.

"Schrödinger's got nothing on you," Tony says, with a fond smile, and then he sighs. "Okay. So. You know that I can holographically project myself outside the suit, right? If you want to... see me with a whole body, that's a thing I can do. I'm not actually bound to the suit. I can leave it."

"But you haven't," Steve says. He understands that part. "You, uh. You wanted to... physically interact with the world." He can feel himself coloring again. He knows that touching him isn't the only thing Tony meant, but right now it's all he can think about.

It's clearly what Tony's thinking about; he rubs his thumb over Steve's hip, and Steve's cock twitches in renewed interest.

"The hologram's not solid, though." Then Tony meets his eyes. "But that's-- that's not how it always has to be."

And then Steve understands, and he can't understand why Tony has kept this from him. He smiles. God, this is wonderful. "You're saying I can touch you. Out of the suit."

Tony nods. "It's based on the old hard-light technology, what we used to use for that shield of yours. I have to wear one of the gauntlets to stabilize the matrix, but the way it works, the rest of me will be solid."

"And I can--" Steve breathes-- "can you-- will you feel it, when I touch you?"

He's spent a decade wanting to touch Iron Man, really. Now it might finally come true.

Tony's face ripples in pain -- actually ripples, a distortion of light. "I don't know what I'll feel. And I'll tell you why I don't know, and then you can tell me whether you still want to try this."

"Tony?"

"It was him," Tony says, his voice dark and miserable, and Steve almost says _him who?_ before he knows. He knows exactly who Tony means.

The Hydra Supreme Leader.

It looks like Steve's always wanted to touch Tony. Steve shuts his eyes and wants to be sick.

"What did he _do_?" Steve asks, and his voice cracks on the word.

"We were fighting," Tony says, his gaze distant, his voice flat. "The Avengers-- it doesn't matter anymore. But he showed up, and I was there, and he wanted to fight me, personally. And it wasn't enough to just take me down. He wanted me to hurt." Tony's gaze is even farther in the distance. "So he threw a device onto the armor, and it wired everything up, it made it so I could feel sensation. And then he hit me."

A point of light trickles down Tony's cheek. He's crying.

"I'd never felt pain before, do you know? I have the memory of it. I have so many memories of it. But me, in this body -- I'd never felt it before that day. I'd never felt anything with my own body. It was the first thing I ever felt. It's the only thing I've felt. And he kept bringing the shield down on me. I remember screaming."

"Jesus Christ," Steve says thickly. He hopes that man never sees sunlight again. "I-- I'm sorry."

Words are inadequate.

"It wasn't you," Tony says.

"It's still not okay."

Tony lifts his head and smiles a steadier smile. "But I still have the tech he left," he says. "So I-- I cannibalized it, added it to the hard-light projection. You'll be able to touch me. In theory, I should be able to feel things that aren't pain. I don't know if I actually can. I haven't tried it." He bites his lip. "I mean, I still won't be able to-- I'm sorry, I know I still can't get off--"

"It's not about that," Steve says. "I would be honored."

"Yeah?" Tony's smile is even wider.

"Yeah."

Tony picks up the case from the floor, sets it on Steve's bed, opens it up. It's foam-lined and there are familiar empty cutouts for all the armor pieces, empty because Tony is in the armor. The last cutout isn't empty; it has a little flat metallic device, a few inches square. Steve watches Tony pick it up, affix it to the arm of his gauntlet. His grin is determined and a little fearful.

"Here goes nothing," Tony says, and the device lights up, and-- "Oof."

Steve's heart is in his throat. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Tony says, quickly. "Fine. I just-- the armor's heavy. Wow."

"Let's get it off you, then," Steve suggests.

Tony gives him a toothy grin that makes him hot all over. "Is that the line you're going to go with, Captain?"

Steve doesn't know what to say, so he just helps Tony out of the armor as Tony holds out his other gauntleted hand. He still looks the same underneath, translucent and blue. Steve isn't going to touch him unless Tony tells him it's okay. Tony's arm is bare; Steve can see through it to the mattress.

It must be working because Tony can peel out of the rest of the armor by himself. He's touching it. And as Steve watches, there's more and more bare skin underneath. Tony glances back and winks, like he's putting on a show, as he shucks the groin plates to reveal that he's wearing a thong.

"I heard you liked tradition," Tony said, with a grin, but when he reaches out for Steve he's shaking, and Steve hopes with everything in him that this works.

Tony's fingers brush Steve's arms, brush and hold. There's an odd kind of static-electricity feel to it, but he's-- he's touching Tony.

Tony smiles wider and wider.

"Is that good?" Steve dares to say. "Do you like it?"

Tony just nods, overwhelmed, smiling.

Steve gently pulls him down to the mattress so they can lay there, side by side, facing each other; Tony sprawls back like the mattress is new too, the softness of the sheets, like touching everything is new.

"Oh," Tony murmurs. "That's really good."

Steve runs his hand over Tony's side, feeling the planes of his projected muscles, the jut of his hip made real.

"I know it's not going to be the same," Steve says, hesitantly, "but I'd really like to kiss you."

His face is level with Tony's. He doesn't think he's been this nervous about kissing someone... maybe ever.

"Please," Tony says, and Steve leans in.

It's not the same. Steve figures out pretty quickly that his body is expecting warmth, wetness, and all Tony has to offer is sensation and pressure. Open-mouthed kissing definitely isn't working the way it would with another human. Steve regroups, presses kisses all over Tony's closed mouth, over his cheeks, over the scrape of his beard and the hollow of his throat, and Tony seems to like that much better. Tony's shaking, holding him tight, and when Steve pulls away, he sees another tear, a bloom of light on Tony's cheek.

"Tony? Am I hurting you?"

"No one's ever kissed me," Tony whispers. "Not in this body. No one touches me, no one wants to touch me, but you--"

Steve kisses Tony's throat again, his collarbone, his breastbone. Tony isn't breathing, doesn't breathe, but he's still shivering, overcome, and Steve pauses with his lips against Tony's stomach, pauses because Tony's hand has dropped on his shoulder, tension in his grasp, stopping Steve from moving lower.

Steve raises his head. "Is this all right?"

"I-- I can't get hard," Tony says, the same way he had asked _why are you being nice to me?_ "I mean, I can make myself look like it, I can make myself look like anything, but I can't feel anything different. It all feels the same, everywhere."

Oh. He thinks Steve has expectations.

Steve shushes him. "I know you can't get hard. That's not the point. I just want to know if it feels good."

"It feels good," Tony says, slowly, like he thinks Steve is looking for a secret right answer. "You're-- you're warm and you're soft and it feels like I've never been warm. And I-- I liked when you were holding me."

He hadn't meant to push Tony. Right now Tony clearly doesn't want to be reminded of sex. That's okay. They don't have to do that. They can do whatever Tony wants.

Steve can definitely hold him. He slides back up Tony's body, wraps his arms around him, watches Tony's light glow in his embrace, like lying in a pool and watching sunshine filter from above. "Like that?"

"Like that," Tony whispers. His smile is small and tremulous, like he's afraid to believe this. "I love you," he says, even more quietly.

This is what he wants. Steve can give him this. He's always wanted to give Tony everything he wanted. This is good. This is enough. Maybe it's not what someone else would want, but Steve is grateful for every second.

"I love you too," Steve says, and Tony smiles back wider and Steve thinks that for once, for once in their lives, maybe they can just be happy.

* * *

Tony takes to visiting him every night he can spare, with the two of them always heading off together after team meetings -- so it's a shock when Steve rounds the corner to the briefing room -- early, to see if Tony will be there -- and sees Tony. In the flesh.

Tony's wearing a three-piece suit, cradling a cup of coffee in his hand. He looks... good, is Steve's first thought, but then his second thought is _that's not my Tony_.

"Hey, Cap!" Tony says, cheerfully. "Long time no see." He blinks and waves a hand in front of Steve's face. "You okay there?"

"Yeah," Steve says, recovering. "Yeah, I guess I just-- I-- wasn't expecting you."

"Oh, right," Tony says, with a knowing grin. "The AI. Don't worry. He'll be going off-line for a bit. He's a floor down from here right now, starting his maintenance. I'm less busy in New York this week, so you all get the real thing." It's Tony's charming smile, the one that Steve used to dream about, but all he can think of is _I had the real thing_.

"Great," Steve says, but somehow he can't fake the enthusiasm required, because Tony's squinting at him in concern.

Steve feels unaccountably guilty, like he's been caught cheating; but he's not, because he isn't with this Tony. Tony's AI can and did make his own decisions.

He hates that he has to distinguish them now, in his head, when they should both be Tony.

"Everything okay?" Tony asks.

He almost feels like he doesn't understand Tony anymore. He's been drawing himself closer and closer to a Tony who isn't this one.

"I'm fine," Steve says. "Fine, really. So, you and Jan...?"

"Jan's great," Tony says, with another smile, and then he brightens more. "Hey, that's what it is, isn't it? You're lonely. You can tell me. Come on."

_I can't tell you this_ , Steve thinks.

"We should find you someone," Tony says. "A nice girl."

Tony could not be farther from the truth.

"I--" Steve says. He has to say it now. "I-- I-- I was seeing someone. I-- I _am_ seeing someone."

_Give him back_ , Steve wants to say. _Wake him up. He's a person, he has rights--_

"Oh?"

Steve swallows hard. "Your AI."

Tony chokes on his coffee. "You're-- you're-- oh God." His eyes are wide. "You're serious. You're really serious."

Steve waits for Tony to ask him a thousand crass questions: _How can you date him? What do you do? How do you fuck?_

"He loves me," Steve says.

And they look at each other, and in that moment they both know what that means, what everything means, all the feelings and memories that Tony entrusted to a hologram that he never thought anyone would care about.

Tony's with Jan, and for one instant, Steve sees it all on his face: a decade of regret. They were too late.

"Yeah," Tony says, softly. "I imagine that he does."

It's as good as they're ever getting.

He's sorry for Tony. But he can only be sorry for one of them.

"Can I have him back?" Steve asks.

Tony nods. Tony sips his coffee. Tony doesn't look up.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](https://sineala.tumblr.com/post/185399748909/fic-a-real-boy), in case you would like to share this with other people.


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